The Agony of Defeet

A new craze has been added to the ever growing list of mutilations in the name of beautification. Doctors whittle away at, and add to, our body parts. They stick needles into foreheads, jaw lines and lips. Tattoo artists shoot permanent ink under the skin, and 18 year old mall sales girls pierce holes into ear lobes.

And now, there’s a new frenzy. Have you ever wondered how models and other beautiful people manage to balance on stiletto heels as they strut down runways or walk the red carpet en-route to picking up an Oscar? Well I have. I, whose duck-like gait has, on more than one occasion, caused me to slip, and fall off of my own sandals during the simple act of walking; I, who after four knee operations, deal with stairs like a toddler - one two, one two - while grasping the banister; I, who am elated if I safely make it from point A to point B without tripping over low air currents, would really like to know how the beautiful people stand erect, forge ahead and even dance, on four inch needle thin mules that make even the ugliest pair of pylons look willowy.

Do I sound bitter? Perhaps, just a tad. Even in my prime, lovely legs and graceful walking were alien to me. As a high-school twirler guys whistled and hooted when I strutted across the football field. “Stay clear of Laverne,” they’d shout. “Her knock knees have been known to start fires.”

I once had a guy, in pursuit of a date, compliment me on my calves, which were all he could see from below my hemline. “I’d sure like to see the upper part of those shapely legs,” he hinted with the subtlety of a charging rhinoceros.

“Do you take me for an idiot?” he guffawed. “I know full well it takes more than two toothpicks to support that ass.”

But I digress. I mention those things only to explain my rancor and to elicit sympathy.

What allows models and celebrities to glide effortlessly on spindly high-heels is collagen. The same collagen used to plump up faces, is injected into the balls and heels of their feet. The effect, lasting from six to nine months, helps alleviate the discomfort that occurs when putting weight on the ball of the foot.

Some podiatrists have opted not to use collagen. Instead, they inject patients with their own fat. I kinda’ like the idea of having fat withdrawn from my butt and thighs, but if they then inject it into the balls and heels of my feet, I’m in real danger of ending up nine feet tall.

By the way, you’ll be thrilled to learn that along with all the other countless bodily assaults that take place during the aging process, after the age of 40, foot padding starts to go, also.

I’m having a rough time accepting that I’ll never again be able to wear those beautiful sleek stilettos that I enjoyed when I was young - stilettos that my father accurately predicted would ruin my feet and aid in cultivating bunions and hammer toes.

I recently purchased a chic outfit for a special function I’d be attending. It cried out for sexy high heel sandals with thin spaghetti straps. I rummaged through my 30 some pair of shoes and nothing would do, so I drove to the mall where, in the fifth store, I found exactly what I wanted. I slipped them on but was unable to walk. The heel was so high that my body tilted forward, and the spaghetti straps outlined and squeezed my bunion, causing sharp, pulsating pain. There would be dancing at this affair so, sadly, those shoes would never do.

Then I remembered my mother’s sage words. “To be a woman of substance you must endure pain; the pain of girdles, bras, panty hose and tight shoes.”